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In passing through the gallery she was attracted by the eager, persistent stare of a very handsome man whom she did not recognize, but whose strange likeness to her son enchained her. Suddenly the truth flashed to her heart: "It is Jerome!" He meanwhile, gazing at her, said to one of the ladies with him, "Si belle! si belle! qui est-ce?"
"Et toi, mon pauvre Chicot," says she, "est-ce qu'on t'a mis a la retraite? Il parait que tu n'es plus General chez Franco " "CHUT!" says the Baron, putting his finger to his lips. "What are they saying, my dear?" says my wife to Jemimarann, who had a pretty knowledge of the language by this time.
She turned with a start to find the door open, framing the squat figure of a man-servant, a brigand in appearance, French of the Midi; black hair grew low on his forehead; his beetling brows met over sullen shiny eyes which scanned her with a hostile gaze. Diffidently she mustered her all-too-scanty French. "Est-ce Monsieur le docteur est chez lui?" she ventured, hoping for the best.
Also whenever we wanted to speak in Russian, she would say, "Parlez, donc, francais," as though on purpose to annoy us, while, if there was any particularly nice dish at luncheon which we wished to enjoy in peace, she would keep on ejaculating, "Mangez, donc, avec du pain!" or, "Comment est-ce que vous tenez votre fourchette?" "What has SHE got to do with us?" I used to think to myself.
All the wiseacres here make such a fuss on that point! Deuce take me if I can see any difference! Their orchestra begins all at one stroke, just as in other places. It is too laughable! Raaff told me a story of Abaco on this subject. He was asked by a Frenchman, in Munich or elsewhere, "Monsieur, vous avez ete a Paris?" "Oui." "Est-ce que vous etiez au Concert Spirituel?" "Oui."
And then Padre Ignazio repeated Auber's remark in French: "'Est-ce le bon Dieu, on est-ce bien le diable, qui me fait tonjours aimer les coquins? I don't know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composed anything lately? I wonder who is singing Zerlina now?" He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the monastic herbs and the oleanders to the sacristy.
Very much astonished he asked: 'Est-ce que je n'ai pas de trombones? I showed him the printed score, and he then asked me to add the trombones to the march, so that, if possible, they might be used at the next rehearsal.
The Countess watched Mr. Farnley's mystified look, and whispered to Sir John: 'Est-ce qu'il comprenne le Francais, lui? It was the final feather-like touch to her triumph. She saw safety and a clear escape, and much joyful gain, and the pleasure of relating her sufferings in days to come.
Quietly Mordaunt crossed the room to him. He was crouched like a monkey, his chin on his hand, and made no movement at his approach. Mordaunt reached him, and bent a little. "Est-ce que vous attendez quelqu'un, monsieur?" Dark eyes flashed up at him, and sharply Mordaunt straightened himself. "I await Mr. Mordaunt," a soft voice said.
"S'il vous plait, madame," began Esther, half crying with agitation, "Est-ce qu'on peut téléphoner? C'est très important, madame." The old face, unsmiling, critical, looked her over from head to foot. Esther for the first time realised her dishevelled appearance, her hatless head. She saw the hard eyes fix themselves in a suspicious stare on a point upon her cheek under the left eye.
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